


Raise Your Glass High!

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [258]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 17:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: Victory celebrations.





	Raise Your Glass High!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OddlyExquisite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OddlyExquisite/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Emila-Wan and Carol  
> Mali Wane for posting to the Master Apprentice ML  
> Travis for posting to the Master Apprentice Archive on AO3   
> Alex for inspiring Arcadia 
> 
> Arcadian references:  
> [Equal in Ireland](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4104454)  
> [Bermuda Breezes ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11050047)  
> [Water in the Desert](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10856814)  
> [Crushing the High Bar ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10669476)
> 
> References:  
> [Category:LGBT heads of government - Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:LGBT_heads_of_government)  
> [Irish (Gaelic) Toasts - The Jack Horntip Collection](http://www.horntip.com/html/recitations/short_recitations/toasts/toasts_in_other_languages/irish.htm)  
> [Bushmills 21 Year Old Single Malt Irish Whiskey - Caskers](https://www.caskers.com/bushmills-21-year-old-single-malt-irish-whiskey/)  
> [The Celtic Lyrics Collection - Lyrics - Courtin' In The Kitchen](http://celtic-lyrics.com/lyrics/150.html)

Amazing what Friday nights in spring could bring this year....

June 2nd

Ian grinned as he slid a new picture into a Lucite frame and put it on top of the teak bookcase in the living room, next to a photograph of Lelia in her gi, which Quinn had snapped at an aikido class at The Academy of the Light in February. The new photo had been taken on their cruise to Bermuda, which they'd just returned from a couple of days ago. He and Quinn wore their tuxes, with the little shamrock and clover shining from their lapels, but their smiles were even brighter. They'd just gotten off of the elevator on the Windjammer Deck and were on their way to the cocktail party on the second day of their cruise. Ian gave out a happy sigh just looking at it.

He was still relaxed and tanned from the wonderful time he and Quinn had on their vacation; he was wearing his Skyhawks t-shirt and sweatshorts, while Quinn had on a muscle shirt and Bermuda shorts. Ian absently scratched a bit of sunburn on his nose, as he arranged the pictures to his liking. He found himself humming 'Land of the Sea and Sun', a calypso tune made famous by Harry Belafonte, as he turned on the TV the Friday after they came home.

The top story on the news was that the first gay Prime Minister of Ireland had just been elected. Ian stood there for a moment in overwhelmed delight, eyes aglow and grinning from ear to ear.

"Quinn!" he shouted, trying to get his husband's attention, since he was busy working in his home office.

"What is it, lad? I'm trying to finish my transfer advising." Quinn's head popped out of the office doorway. "Can it wait?"

Ian was vibrating in excitement. "Not a chance -- Leo Varadkar has just been elected Prime Minister!"

Without even bothering to turn his computer off, Quinn ran into the living room with Force-enhanced speed and grabbed Ian in a Wookiee hug, lifting him off of the floor. "Oh, laddie, that's grand!" He and Ian had been following the run-up to the election for weeks now and were fully aware of the importance of this Moment in Irish history.

Their natural optimism buoyed them in good times and bad, but the Force of Varadkar's victory came rushing to the fore now, as they relished both the practical and symbolic power of having a gay man win the office of Prime Minister of Ireland for the very first time in history.

Quinn gave Ian a triumphant kiss, as tender as the one he'd given him when Bermuda achieved marriage equality. That had also happened on a Friday night, back in May, which led to their most recent vacation there, not to mention that the cruise itself had started on a Friday. All of these Fridays were magical, just like their kiss to celebrate each one. Mmmmm -- tonight's was a potent brew of after-dinner cappuccinos, happiness, and love.

Then the men were off on a rollicking ride that was not fueled solely by caffeine. They danced around the living room, neatly skirting the furniture with their Jedi reflexes, along with two excited puppies, after Artoo and Sandy ran in to play with their dads. The sounds of cheering and yipping sang through their home in a burst of sheer joy. It reminded Ian of their celebration of marriage equality coming to Ireland, back in 2015, when it won by popular vote, the first-ever country to do so.

They fit together more perfectly by the year, every angle and curve made to complement each other's geometry. Their sportswear was even more delicious to dance in than their tuxes had been on the cruise -- bare arms pressing together and bare legs brushing with every step. And it was easier to move without all that fabric in between them. After a couple of heady minutes of reveling in their private dance, it became even more intimate. Quinn's arms wound around his husband's shoulders, relishing his body heat, while Ian's arms hugged his waistline, slipping underneath his shirt to slide along warm skin.

Quinn started to sing an Irish folk song, 'Courtin' in the Kitchen'. Even though the courtship in the song had gone hilariously wrong, Quinn knew that his own courtship of his laddie would never end. The song popped into his head because of its similarity to 'Tura Lura Lural', which he had sung to Ian twice in recent weeks: first, to soothe him after Armie Huxley had given him an unwanted kiss during a gym meet, and then, to soothe him after nightmares caused by the horror of concentration camps for gay men in Chechnya.

'Courtin' in the Kitchen' had a similar refrain to the lullaby:

"With me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie   
And me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie."

Of course, Quinn put deliberate emphasis on each time he said the word 'laddie', earning a big grin from his very own laddie. He loved it when he found the private meaning in songs, just for Ian and him.

Then Quinn continued singing:

"At the age of seventeen I was 'prenticed to a grocer..."

And this line also seemed made for the two of them -- as soon as he heard the words, "I was 'prenticed," Ian burst into peals of laughter.

Quinn stopped singing to give his lad a wink because he knew exactly why Ian was laughing so hard. He couldn't resist turning the tables and teasing his herven for a change, saying, "Actually, *you* were the one who was 'prenticed, Ian, not I." He gave out a hearty chuckle.

"Too true," Ian managed to get out between his snorts. "Sometimes, linguistics is destiny. With a name like Ian Prentice, our romance must have been written in the stars."

"Or a name like Quinn Masterson," Quinn added slyly.

Somehow, Ian managed to groan and snort at the same time. It was almost as eloquent as if he were speaking.

"Some things never change, even if they're long ago and far, far away," Quinn continued to tease, loving the sparkle he'd created in his husband's eyes.

"But I'd much rather be 'prenticed' to a no-nonsense English professor than to a grocer, ma guid-man," (master, husband) Ian hooted. "Forget all of the fruits and vegetables -- I just was never cut out for the AgriCorps."

Quinn groaned at Ian's reference to the 'Jedi Apprentice' books, which they'd given to Lelia when she was a little girl. "And I know what a lucky sod I am to have you as my 'prentice," he said, his heart in his voice.

"That's very nice of you to say, but I hope you can tell that it's _my_ pleasure to be your Padawan, Master Quinn," Ian said in an impossibly sultry voice, then nuzzled into him for good measure.

As sure as 'loora' followed 'toora', a kiss followed Ian's declaration. Master and apprentice savored the Moment, and the galaxy stood still, even down to Ian's dancing feet. They stayed just like that, in each other's arms, for an eon.

Then a whoof from Sandy roused them from their enchantment, two sweet smiles gracing their faces. Just in time, because the congratulatory phone calls started ringing in from their family and friends.

When things had quieted down a little bit, Ian asked, "How 'bout some 'Riverdance' and a toast to celebrate?" 

With a wink, Quinn switched to his Irish brogue, "Sure and begorrah, me lad."

Ian groaned obligingly, even though he secretly loved when his husband laid it on thick. Then he flipped the CD switch to 'Reel Around the Sun', which they'd been listening to for the last couple of days. They were still living in the cruise, the dancers in their colorful ruffles vivid in their mind's eye.

Quinn went to the sideboard by the piano to get a bottle of Bushmills' 21-year-old single-malt Irish whiskey that he'd been saving for their anniversary in August, while Ian picked up two Waterford Lismore whiskey tumblers from a kitchen cabinet near the refrigerator. The age of the whiskey was particularly fitting, since Ireland was truly coming of age now, what with this new victory and equal marriage, both within the past two years.

"Comhghairdeas!" (Congratulations!) said Ian, clinking his glass with Quinn's.

Quinn beamed at him. "Tapadh leat." (Thank you.) "Ah, what an auspicious day, laddie mine."

"That it is, ma gradh." Ian took his first sip of whiskey. "The taste of victory."

* * *

June 8th

Almost a week later, there was another victory for them to celebrate, this time in Ian's ancestral land. The Scottish Episcopal Church voted to approve equal marriage, allowing ceremonies to be performed in their churches.

They actually heard the wonderful news during a phone call from Ian's Uncle Donnchadh, who lived in Inverness. Despite the late hour in Scotland, he called to congratulate them and told them to turn on their TV. They'd been finishing their dinner, and Ian impulsively got out the coconut layer cake Prudence had baked for them that morning.

The men were still in their work uniforms, more formal than usual, since they'd attended a committee meeting on the 300-level courses in the late afternoon. Both of them wore button-down cream shirts with dark-chocolate slacks for Quinn and milk-chocolate slacks for Ian. At least they had taken their ties off and traded their Clarks' dress shoes for moccasins. Little comforts were important.

This time, they celebrated with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label, which they'd been given by Jo and Keith for Christmas. Knowing full well how expensive it was, they'd been saving it for a special occasion, and this landmark decision certainly qualified as one.

Ian brought out two Royal Scot Crystal Kintyre glasses and poured the Scotch. He dragged his chair closer to Quinn's at the kitchen table, then sat down and handed the first glass to his husband with a grin as wide as the River Dee.

"Meal do naidheachd!" (Congratulations!) Quinn toasted as he clinked his glass with Ian's. "To a bright future!"

It was Ian's turn to beam. "Tapadh leibh." (Thank you.) Scottish and Irish Gaelic were sometimes all but identical.

"This is the kind of deja vu I love," said Quinn, thinking of their many reasons to celebrate over the past two months.

Ian said, "It's fantastic! Progress in Ireland and Scotland, not to mention our new favorite island paradise of Bermuda."

"The British Isles are leading the way," Quinn said. "It's times like these that I can really feel our shared ancestry, down to the language." Then he whispered in Ian's ear: "Me gra," (My love) his breath fluttering the little hairs around the lobe. 'Gra' and 'gradh' were so close both men could taste them along with their Scotch.

Ian shivered in delight, both from Quinn's ticklish whisper and from hearing Quinn's endearments in his native tongue.

They went out to sit on the sofa-recliner, putting their drinks and a second slice of coconut cake apiece on the coffee table. They'd have an easy time working it all off tonight, if their dancing were any indication.

"What a wonderful blessing! All of the wee bairns are going to grow up in a world where they can marry the lad or lass of their dreams," said Ian.

Quinn nodded. "Just as it should be."

"And what serendipity! Traditionally, June is the month for weddings," Ian said.

"Perfect timing, then." Quinn ate the last bite of his cake.

Ian winked at him jauntily. "I have to admit that I personally prefer August and October." Those were the months when they had gotten married in the chapels at Mace and Luke.

Quinn winked back, saying, "So do I, lad, so do I!" He kissed his laddie soundly, the very best way to celebrate all of the weddings to come.


End file.
